


Yet

by datswatutink



Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Dorks in Love, F/M, Human AU, butterfly bog, discussing marriage, future relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-05-13 08:52:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5702428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/datswatutink/pseuds/datswatutink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Human Bog and Marianne Christmastime fluff! The couple stumbles through a halting but heartfelt conversation regarding their relationship and what is to come—dorkiness and fluff ensue. </p>
<p>Strange Magic Secret Santa gift for dancesonmoonlight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yet

Marianne trailed her hand along the banister as she walked up the darkened stairs, keeping a wary eye on the treads while fishing in her purse for the keys. Bog’s apartment had been built in the early part of the century, and as a result the stairs, doorways and floors all listed at an angle. She had a tendency to trip on these stairs, and she was trying to hard to be quiet.

Her intention had been to get all of the records in order, the bills paid and the restaurant closed at the same time as Dawn finished with the pies. But Dawn had showed up at the entrance of her office just after 8 with flour on her nose and an apron slung over her shoulder, saying goodnight. Marianne in turn had stayed until nearly midnight finishing up and had blearily dragged herself out of the office and into the cold night with no sister to keep her company. She had almost turned towards her own place—all and all a much shorter walk—but the prospect of her cold lonely kitchen, her empty bed, the general lack of Bog, made her turn instead towards 32nd street.

She didn’t know when he had become such a staple in her life. It seemed like only last month that she had met him at his bar, frazzled and angry after a run-in with Roland. She had stormed into the shop, the list of wines the restaurant needed halfway crumpled in her fist and ready to pick a fight with the first person that stood in her way. And there Bog had been, sneering at her from behind the counter and ready with a sharp wit and a sharper tongue. It had felt good to actually bicker at someone who was willing to fight back, and it had felt even better to sock him in the jaw. She’d left quickly after that.

Three days later, on the phone with her father while picking through a very complicated spreadsheet she had looked up to find him standing in the door of her office looking very unsure and out of place, with a blooming big bruise around his right eye. She expected him to press charges—instead he asked her out on a date.

After the first date (paintballing so she could “get some frustration out”), he asked her on another, and then another. She liked him, she discovered. She liked this tall, grumpy, craggy man with his crooked smile, his bright blue eyes and the way he supported her anger, embraced her oddness. She still resisted being his girlfriend in name as long as she possibly could. Her experience with Roland had colored her perception of relationships so poorly that there were times she never wanted to be in one again. But summer had faded into fall, then to winter, and Bog had stayed with her, and she with him. And when he spent the night at her place for the first time in October and asked quietly if he could introduce her to his extended family as “girlfriend Marianne” she had wrapped her arms around his thin waist and nodded into the front of his sweater so he couldn’t see how hard she was smiling.

And now here she was, finally finding the keys to his apartment in the bottom of her purse, turning the lock over and shouldering her way in like it was something she had been doing her whole life.

—

The apartment was dark—Bog having long since gone to bed, so she made quiet work of setting her purse down and toeing off her shoes. She stopped through the kitchen and then crept across the living room before pushing open the bedroom door, pausing on the threshold to let her eyes adjust to the darkness. In the light from the streetlamp she could see Bog’s form under the covers—just a tall lump in the dead center of the bed. His pants were flung over the desk chair, his shoes lined up against the wall, his familiar possessions littered around the space. She hadn’t actually planned on staying over here, so she had to pull out an old shirt of his on to sleep in, and was sure she would wake him up with the noise she managed to make in doing so. He didn’t stir.

Finally all ready for bed, she sat on the very edge of the mattress and was working on pulling her second sock off when Bog moved very suddenly behind her. Marianne didn’t even have time to turn before he had reared up and surged forward, all but tackling her around the waist. She let out a very embarrassing shriek, completely caught by surprise as she fell back against him. He was warm—his skin felt soft and dry against her shoulder and she could feel his shaking laughter through her whole body.

“You jerk! You scared the life out of me” she said against his chest, where her face had gotten smushed. “You have to be careful or I’ll punch you again.”

He let out another chuckle and replied, “Well, nothing but good things have happened since the last time you punched me, so it probably wouldn’t be the worst punishment in the world”. She felt her face heat up and was glad it was so dark. Declarations of relationship contentment were something she was still very much not used to.

“Did you hear me come in?” she asked, detangling herself from his arms to she could reposition herself more comfortably (his elbow was currently digging into her kidney).

“As surely as someone hears an elephant stampeding through their kitchen” he groused.

“I was so quiet!” She shot back with a grumpy little wiggle while she sorted out the covers. He had managed to drag her down on top of him with but was still covered by the bedspread, and in the dark it was just a confusion of limbs. She shoved him towards his side of the bed.

“You were” he laughed, not budging an inch but pulling her down against him instead. “I just didn’t expect you to come over, and thought I might be getting robbed or murdered. Or both. I’m glad it’s you.”

“I did steal some of your pizza” she said to the curve of his jaw where she had tucked her face. She pressed a gentle kiss there and felt his hand at her back tighten against her in response.

“You beast” he said sleepily. “That was my breakfast”.

She laughed and settled closer against him, leaning into the wonderful way his hand was running up and down her back, between her shoulder blades. There was silence for a couple of minutes, and Marianne thought Bog was probably falling asleep by the way his breathing had evened out, but he surprised her by speaking up again. His voice had a serious edge to it now, and she felt inexplicably nervous.

“My mother called this morning to make sure you would be able to stop by for Christmas” he said.

Marianne lifted her head from his shoulder so he answer wouldn’t be so muffled, “Yes, I am hoping our Christmas will be pretty well wrapped up by two or so, and I’ll be able to come to your dinner.”

“Okay good.” He said, and fell quiet again. It was not a sleepy quiet though, he was thinking very hard about something, she knew him well enough to know.

“What?”

“It’s nothing.”

Marianne knew that tone. The nervousness she had started to feel trickled up her spine and pooled in her shoulders, making her tense. She wasn’t going to be able to sleep now, might as well get out with it.

She climbed up on her knees to flick the bedside lamp on (Bog grimaced and put an arm across his eyes) but Marianne was on a mission now. Honesty and communication were the two things they were really determined to foster in their relationship.They had both had such bad luck with love before that they had agreed to be as straight forward as possible when something came up between them. She gave him a poke in the ribs.

“Bog.”

He didn’t move his arm but he seemed resigned anyways. “Promise me you won’t freak out?”

“You know I can’t promise that. But I will try not to.” She said, settling back so she was sitting between his knees. She gave his thigh a pat when he still didn’t continue, eliciting a very dramatic sigh from him.

“My mom told all my relatives that we are engaged.”

To her everlasting credit, Marianne did not freak out. Not violently, at least. She did go ramrod straight and draw a sharp breath in through her teeth in a hiss.

“Engaged!? What the hell! We’ve only been dating for six months!”

“You don’t have to tell ME” he said from under his arm. “I yelled as much on the phone to her, but the damage is done, you know how she is!” He let his arm slide off his face and looked wearily at her. “She’s got everyone from Aunt Plum to 3rd cousin Sharon praising the lord that I’ve finally manned up. We’re going to have to refute and fend off congratulations left and right. I know it’s a lot to ask of you and I understand if you want…well if you maybe want to….not come.“

Marianne straightened in surprise. “What? And leave you alone to set them all right?”

“Tough girl…” He said softly, the corner of his mouth crooking up in his rare smile. “I know you’re not one to back down from a challenge but—I want you to be comfortable meeting my family not—not going around breaking their hearts all evening.”

“Do you want me to come?” she asked carefully.

“What—of course! I’m just saying you don’t have to, it wouldn’t be the worst thing if this just blew over and…I dunno…”

She smiled back at him a little bit, really he was so soft despite the gruff exterior. She was about to tell him that she would be happy to attend and give his family a firm proverbial shake but the words died in her throat. He was still laying there, the light from the lamp throwing eerie shadows across his face but doing nothing to mute the brightness of his eyes. His hand was lightly resting on the one she had on his thigh and there was something in the air between them that hadn’t been there a moment ago—something unspoken and heavy.

It was not the first time she had thought about marriage with him. Publicly, of course, she had made no indication that he was anything more than a guy she was seeing, someone who she enjoyed spending time with, enjoyed sharing a bed with.

In her own secret heart, though, something very soft and gentle was hollowing out to make room for him. She was letting the idea of him weasel it’s way into her daily life, the feeling of being with him into her new normal. Thinking of life after him, without him, was becoming inconceivable. She was well aware that this was a sign of weakness, a terrible pitfall to her tough, single girl image. But somehow she didn’t care. She felt strong with him.

“Marianne?” he asked, and he sounded a little concerned. She realized that she was still frozen on place, her mouth just slightly open and her heart beating hard.

“We could—well would it really be so bad if we, if we… didn’t correct them?”

“Wait” said Bog carefully, holding the wrist of her right hand like she may become a wild animal and escape- “What?”

“I’m saying—we could just go with it, pretend to be engaged?” Marianne shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “You won’t be seeing most of them for at least a year anyway, it could just be…a sort of lie by omission?”

“You realize they will all want to know when the wedding is?”

“We haven’t planned it yet.”

“And they’ll want to know how I proposed.” He had a very sly glint to his eye, egging her on.

“Don’t be silly, I proposed, it was very spur of the moment.”

“YOU! Well that is no fair, I would want to do it, I’ve already—“

He pulled up short, color flooding his face and Marianne felt her heart come to an immediate, violent halt. Okay, joking was over, then.

“You already what.”

“That’s not! I didn’t—It’s just—“ Bog let his head fall back and groaned (which Marianne shouldn’t have found sexy in this moment). "Jesus” he said, propping himself up on his elbows. “Mari I—I just—I’ve thought about it, okay?”

“Okay” she replied, not sure she was breathing.

“It’s not like I’ve thought about it very hard. Or bought a ring. Or anything.“

Honestly, they were going to have to resuscitate her, her heart had stopped pumping.

“Have you?”

“Bought a ring?!” she squeaked out.

“No!” a impatient wave of his hand “thought about it?”

"I have” she said, and it was almost a whisper, but somehow she was still right here, kneeling on his bed despite being caught in the scariest conversation she had ever had with him. Strangely, she didn’t feel blind panic. In fact, she felt rather calm, despite her heart’s inability to beat.

“And would you…if I asked in, oh, say two years… And things were still going well…would I be the kind of person you might—marry?”

“You dork” she gasped, and suddenly the blood was rushing in her veins again. She could almost hear it, could feel her heart squeezing around the idea of Bog as a husband, could imagine the smile he was about to have on his face- “You probably shouldn’t wait a whole two years though, I might get impatient and do it myself.“

His grin was just as good as she had imagined, better even, because it was colored by absolute amazement. He made a wild sound in his throat and hooked his arms around her, pulling her down to him. She came to him so eagerly they actually smacked their foreheads together before managing to catch each other in a long kiss. Neither of them could stop smiling. Screw bad ass single Marianne, she was much happier with stupidly in love bad ass Marianne.

When they finally broke apart they were still both grinning like loons. Bog reached over to flip the light back off after opening and closing his mouth several times, apparently unable to put words to his current emotions. She snuggled back down against him, her skin buzzing with exhilaration.

After a couple of minutes of stunned happy silence, Bog asked;

“Okay, wait, so what are we going to tell my relatives?”

“Tell them we’re not engaged. Yet.”

“Yet” said Bog, like he was trying the word out. “Yet is good. I like it.”

“I love it” whispered Marianne.

**Author's Note:**

> For dancesonmoonlight (tumblr) in the Secret Santa exchange (2015).


End file.
